I cannot withstand pain any further. The bubble of maladies has burst. It had burst a long time back, but somehow I continued to endure the misery and tried my best to move forward. As a kid, I remember crushing colony of ants and at that time it was fun. One time, my mother, disgusted and annoyed with my abominable actions got so enraged that she hit me on the face. I was 11. She then explained to me how ending someone’s life is the greatest sin of them all. I had unabated love and respect for her.
Whenever I was swarmed up with feelings of vexation and perturbation, I always tore pieces of paper and quashed them with my hands. I now find myself grumbling over petty things in my incommodious apartment. I don’t see myself making a meaningful contribution to my estranged wife or my lovely daughter. My existence hardly affects them. I don’t have any friends who would cry for me after I’m gone. There are acquaintances who would blather about me in the funeral. I have always believed that there’s a reason for every existence and when that cause is over, that existence also comes to a conclusion. I think I have lived my reason.
I have been confined to depression for many years now. I have tried different things but it doesn’t seem to mitigate the pain. It only feels good for a short time but there’s no permanent solution. There’s no way out. It is as if you’re sentenced to prison without the option of parole. The acute pain that I experience has exceeded the coping mechanisms available.
I almost laughed and cursed people whenever I read their news of the suicide. I always asked the question, ‘How could they do it?’. Now, I have the answer to this question. They killed themselves because the acute pain of suicidal/psychotic depression exceeded their willingness and ability to cope with the pain. They would have lived in a circle of despair, melancholy, apathy, hopelessness, meaninglessness and resolved to end their life. Killing oneself is not always a selfish act and neither it is an act of self -punishment. To the depressed, in a perverse way, it is the final act of self-mercy. Even minor depression can cause a failure to draw meaning out of suffering which can trigger a dangerous thought process where in the individual finds himself trapped, unable to grow or learn or do which leads to self-annihilation.
The phrase ‘This too shall pass’ has lost meaning because things won’t fall back in the right place. They won’t get better. They have me damned. I can’t possibly resurrect my life again. Who would I do that for, anyway? Neither do I have the patience nor do I have the perseverance to bring my life back on course. To change things. I have lost all inspiration. I have lost all the fortitude. I have lost all hope.
I know my fingers would tremble when I swallow those sleeping pills. I would sweat in anxiety. It would be onerous to ingest those pills. I would be very afraid to carry on with it. I would have to overcome intense emotional distress to commit the final act. Tears would overflow my face as I think about the people I care about but they can’t persuade me to stay. There would be physical pain but I am prepared to bear that. At the same time, there’s comfort in knowing that after I breathe my last breath, I can get to see god. I can get to a reunion with my mum again. I’d be free of all emotional trauma and I’ll get to born again in a different shape in a different body with different emotions. Killing myself is not hitting the stop button. It is instead hitting the pause button before starting again.
I have decided to give up. I QUIT.